


Russian Roulette

by olivemartini



Series: the heavy hearts we hold together [10]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 03:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11569050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivemartini/pseuds/olivemartini
Summary: Cuz the title isn't a give away at all





	Russian Roulette

**Author's Note:**

> This will make more sense if you read the entry immediately before this one, if not the whole series.f

The gun was warm.

She had expected it to be cold, when he slid it to her across the length of the conference table.  Beatrice didn't hesitate before wrapping her hands around it, pulling it up to her face, tracing the trigger with the tip of her finger.  It's a deadly, dangerous thing, one that reminded her of a snake waiting to strike even though it wasn't alive, the gleaming metal glinting under the shine of the fluorescent lights.  

"Ladies."  Larry (the unsub, the crazy guy, the one who just wanted revenge for his dead daughter and had it turn into this) smiled at her, leaning back in his chair, one hand stretched lazily off to the side, pointing at Spencer.  Spencer, who wasn't speaking and was subtly struggling at the tie that Beatrice had used to keep him in the chair, and who was looking at her like this, right here, was the worst nightmare to come to life.  "It's your choice, remember.  But you know what happens if you don't."

 _Choice,_ she thinks, and wonders how that word has so many different meanings to so many different people.  Like she would have a choice about it, about taking this gun, when the alternative is watching a bullet rip through Reid's wonderful, genius, above average brain.  

It's not a choice at all, and everyone in the room knows it, so she wraps her fingers around the gun and brings it up to her temple where he had it pressed a few short moments ago, and pulls the trigger.

 

 

Russian Roulette.

Beatrice was familiar with the concept, considering it shows up sometimes in a case of a party gone wrong, or every few seasons in those horribly unrealistic crime shows her mother watches.  She hadn't thought she would ever be in a situation where she would have to witness it happening, let alone take part of in it.

But that's what Larry wanted, and he made it clear from the beginning that the only way to get through this was to do what he wanted.  So the rest of the team cleared out when he told them to, under the impression that they'd be able to disable the security system in time.  And they did, but not before Larry told Reid to move, holding Beatrice at gun point as a kind of leverage, locking them both in the conference room and telling Beatrice to block off the room.

He had looked happy, when she had it done and was sitting across from him.  Even happier when Spencer sat down, a snarl on his face and sarcasm on his lips but compliant all the same. "Now." It was almost casual, the way he kept the barrel of the gun pointed right where it would hit Beatrice right in the chest.  But it wasn't, because his finger was on the trigger and it became clear that he was making this up as he went along, a mixture of repressed fantasies and old anger and a new delusion that when he walks out of this room, things will have change.  "Which one of you wants to play?"

Spencer had blurted out his name first, desperate, panicked, and he appeared to have decided to have shown his cards before he knew what was at stake.  Beatrice was calmer, and looked a little bit like the daughter this man never got to have, so it was easy for her to stretch her hand out and place it on top of his, pleading.  "No."  The word was loud, final, and Larry looked at her like this was everything he ever wanted.  "I will."

And she did.

 

 

 

This is what this job meant, she remembers: the trembling in your fingers, the way your lungs seem to not have room for that breath you so desperately need, the too loud pounding of your heart beat pulsing in your ears.  And the danger, the constant feeling of looking at someone you love and thinking  _save me, save yourself, just do what you need to come back home to me._

She'd had a break from it, but now it was back, the feeling of fear and panic recognizable with instant clarity.  And it also came with the feeling that maybe, just maybe, after everything (after those long nights, after meeting the great Spencer Reid, after losing one great group of people to a mad man and finding another) this could be it for her.  

"I don't want to die." Beatrice says, the third time the gun is handed to her. The odds are getting worse every round they play, and she can't help but do the math- four shots fired, four to go, and 25% chance that the loser is going to be her.  She can see Reid's head spinning too, and she wishes desperately that he had a way to stop this, but he can't, because she tied him to a damn chair to save his life, even if it meant ending hers.

Larry nodded, biting down on his lip hard like he's taking what she said in consideration.  "That's too bad,"  He says, after he's put the gun in his hand at Reid's head and she had pulled the trigger, flinching back and letting out a shuddering sob when nothing happens.  "Because I do."

 

 

Beatrice has it back in her hands again.

She pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

 

 

"You don't have to do this,"  She whispers, because there is no longer a gun pointing at Reid, and there is only one bullet left in the chamber, and that is currently in Larry Whitt's hand and pressing up against his own temple.  "You didn't hurt anyone."

"But I tried to."  He's not crying.  Larry Whitt hadn't seemed like a man that cries easily, but these are strange circumstances.  Beatrice wants to do something- scream, cry, run, try to get the gun from him, untie Spencer- but she doesn't do anything, just watches him close his eyes and take in a deep, calming breath.  He looks peaceful, when he opens them again.  "I really wanted to hurt someone."

"But you didn't.  No one got hurt.  I didn't get hurt."  She's crying now, really crying, and she thinks that this is it, the stress of the day finally broke her, because she shouldn't be crying when the man who wanted her to shoot herself is about to be out of their lives forever.  "Listen to me, Larry.  You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I did."  He looks at her, and she sees the decision in his eyes, along with the apologies and the regret and the peace that comes with finally giving in.  "You don't know it yet, but I did."

 

 

He pulls the trigger.

 

 

 

"You're okay,"  Spencer says, after she stops screaming, after her breathing comes a little easier, after she got her hands to work long enough to untie him.  And now she's sitting at his desk out in the bull pen where this whole horrible thing started, Spencer crouched in front of her, balancing on his heels with his hands on her knees.  "It's over now."

"It's not okay,"  She says, and her voice is dull and harsh and broken, like the scraping of sand paper.  Beatrice wants to run, but there is no where to go, so she just falls into him and lets her fingers twist into his shirt and tries not to think about how the blood on her face is staining his clothes.  "Nothing's ever okay."

 

 

There are a lot more questions than she thought there would be.  

About what he did, what he said, what kind of gun it was, had she ever met him before.  And a lot of hugs too, where they held her and said everything was okay.  And also a small part where she yelled at them because  _next time a crazy man is in the building, don't just tell me to stay put, tell me there's a crazy man in the building,_ immediately followed by Reid giving her the technical term for what was wrong with Larry Whitt, and her laughing until she's crying again.  

"Do you need anything?"  Spencer asks her, before being led away by Hotch to talk about some super secret BAU business.  And she knew that he would stay, if she asked him to, and that he would go to the ends of the earth to do whatever she asked of him.  

It makes her feel better, despite everything.  "No,"  She says, and lets his hand fall out of hers, giving him a gentle push to where the team was waiting.  "You go.  Just come back, okay?"

 

 

He comes back. 

He comes back, and then he gathers her stuff from her office, and then he walks her down to her car.  He's getting a ride back to his house with Morgan, and JJ is coming with her, because the team decides that both of them need some company that isn't each other.  Beatrice slides into the passenger seat, hands over the keys and rolls the window down to let the morning air in, glad that she had been given the week off.

Not that it matters, she remembers, and the realization sets her off into a shock of laughter that probably scared JJ more than anything else that happened.  "What?"  The other woman looked over at her, a little worried and a little amused.  Shock does funny things to people.  "What's so funny?"

"This was my last week,"  Beatrice says, and laughs and laughs and laughs and sticks her arms out the window when they start to move, waving a last good bye at Reid, because if she choose to make it so, this could be the last day she has to see him or any other reminder of this awful place.  "Garcia comes back Monday."

JJ lets out a whistle.  "You had two more days."

Beatrice tilts her head back, suddenly as calm as if someone had doused her in water.  "Does this get easier?  Dealing with this?"

JJ doesn't answer for a bit.  "With time.  And the right people.  And a little practice."  She turns the away from Beatrice's apartment, down the road that would take them to the ice cream stand that has the giant waffle cones Beatrice always buys JJ after a bad case.  "Stick with the people you love for a while, and it'll be okay."

Beatrice thinks of Reid, who was probably drinking beer with Morgan and watching a sports game he doesn't like, and then tried to convince herself that she didn't.

 


End file.
